


Rose-tinted

by asphora



Series: Technicolor [2]
Category: Kpop - Fandom, SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Chwe Hansol | Vernon is Whipped, Chwe Hansol | Vernon-centric, Cliffhangers, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mentioned SEVENTEEN Ensemble, Seventeen - Freeform, Soulmates, chwe hansol - Freeform, kpop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:48:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphora/pseuds/asphora
Summary: A non-sequential accounting of pivotal moments in yours and Hansol’s relationship. Love is a wonderful thing, but for all it’s tenderness, you learn that it doesn’t come without its fair share of impossible hurdles and unforeseeable struggles. But you know more than anything that this is worth it; Hansol is worth it, right?Soulmate AU with a twist. Wherein everyone is born color blind (only able to see black and white). Sight, or "color" as it's more commonly known as, is only achieved when one falls in love. However this doesn't ensure a true and lasting connection. It just means that love exists in that moment, until it doesn't.
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Reader, Chwe Hansol | Vernon/You
Series: Technicolor [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887679
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Rose-tinted

It’s late, and you and Hansol are in bed at his apartment. He is on his side of the bed that you’ve now grown accustomed to sharing; he is already lying down, head on his pillow as he quietly tinkers with his phone. You are on your side, slightly higher up that him with your back against the headboard and a book in hand, quietly letting the words on the page lull you to sleep, when for some inexplicable reason, his silver hair catches your attention. It’s messy and longer now, sticking up in strange places and revealing the black of his roots that have already started to show as they grew out.

Your eyes trail down to his that are oblivious and trained onto a game on his phone, his lashes so long they’re practically brushing the soft skin of his cheeks. His lips are a soft shade of pink, slightly parted, a biproduct of Hansol’s laser focus. Your eyes trace the line of his jaw – sharp but delicate all the same – that would often clench in frustration and relax into softer smiles when he saw you, the habitual action of the muscle there allowing you to read his moods without so much as a word. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs slightly, and you almost physically feel yourself salivate at the involuntary motion. Stopping your racing thoughts, your eyes trail the skin of his neck down to the chain that hung around his neck. Hansol wasn’t a vain man, only wearing things with meaning and letting his fashion simply be whatever he wanted it to be. Even now, when he had color you weren’t surprised by the strange combinations he’d choose, often matching clothes as if he didn’t have the sight.

You watch the simple chain reflect the light, kissing the delicate angles of the dips in his collar bone. Hands longing to feel his skin, you contemplate doing the same, but quickly brush the thought off; it wasn’t the time for _that_ right now. Your eyes wander lower to the soft skin revealed by undone buttons of sleeping shirt, and your hands twitch longing to touch milky and supple skin there. That’s when he notices you, eyes boring into his chest so intently that he could practically feel your stare. Locking his phone and discarding it onto the bed slowly, so as not to break your focus, he watches you, a gummy smile forming the more he watches how absolutely enchanted you are by him.

“Like what you see?” He teases, his tone completely derailing your train of thought and bringing it to an embarrassing halt.

You laugh, wanting to fire back a witty quip. Deciding against it, you feel yourself melt at the sight of his smile which you returned with a soft sigh. The sound makes him stop a little. Usually, you would have rebuked him easily. Instead, you were just silently smiling at him.

“Are you okay, babe?” His hands move to wrap around your waist and in one fell swoop, the two of you rearrange yourselves with such ease, like puzzle pieces fitting each other’s hold. With his head now resting on your bicep, the rest of your arm wraps around his shoulder. Cradling him like this, you found the position equally adorable and amusing as he hugged himself to you like a child holding themselves close to their mother.

“Yeah, I’m okay, Sol.” You reassure him, your fingers playing with his hair and softly combing the growing tresses away from his face to the back of his ear.

His eyes flutter closed at the contact, melting into the calming touch of your hand. He hums in appreciation as you gently rub his scalp with the pads of your fingers. With closed eyes, he reaches across you for your free hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“What’s on your mind?” He coos your name with his eyes still closed. 

“Hmmm, nothing much,” you watch him appreciatively, pleased to be getting an even closer view, “just you.”

“What about me? Can’t believe how you ended up with such a catch?”

“Hmph, barely,” you chuckle, and he does too, “I was just looking at you and thinking about you. There’s nothing really going on in my head.”

He hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly and slowly before replying with a knowing, “I love you, too.”

Him being able to read you like an open book, even with his eyes closed, makes you smile, thinking about just how lucky you are to have him. “For as long as I can.” You add to his statement, knowing full well that he understands what you mean.

“What do you think death looks like, Sol?” He opens his eyes to look up at you and meet your gaze.

“Hmmm,” He ponders for a moment, animatedly furrowing his brows, “maybe like a dream, and when we wake up, we’re someone new? Like, us, but different.”

“So basically, like a reincarnation?” You tease his lack of eloquence with a slight giggle.

He flashes you an appreciative gummy smile, “took the words right outta my mouth, baby. This is why you’re the brains and I’m the charm.”

“You mean brawns?”

“Nope, you’re the brains and I’m the charm,” he reiterates. “You and I both know I got guns for days, but that my best quality is my charming personality.”

You roll your eyes in amusement, “oh yes, _so charming._ ”

“Why the sudden question?” His tone isn’t pushy, just actually curious as he goes back to closing his eyes to revel in your touch.

“No reason, just something off the top of my head.” You explain nonchalantly, “Do you think we’ve met before, in other lives I mean? Since you believe in reincarnation.”

“Definitely. A hundred percent, yes.” He replies, without even a second to spare for thought.

“Maybe I was the handsome pilot and you were the mysterious attractive passenger. Our eyes probably met while you were getting off and that was that.” He explains matter-of-factly.

“Ah, and I was on my way home to my husband and family?” You tease, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he continues to recount the various fantasies wherein you two might’ve met.

“Yeah, sure. Or maybe we met at a party, where you were lost and I helped you out, we’d probably talked for a while before parting ways.”

He laughs before continuing, “I’m sure there’s a universe out there, or another life where we have two kids—names can be your pick since you know I’m shit at that—and we live in a simple house, in a quiet town, and those versions of us don’t even know we’re having this conversation right now.”

“That version of you must be _really_ fucking smart for me to have married him.” You play along.

“Nah, he tricked you just like in this lifetime.” He sticks out his tongue at you and you nudge him, laughing.

“I bet there are lifetimes where we don’t even meet.” You muse and he simply hums in agreement.

“Sign me up for that shit ‘cause I don’t even know what I got myself into in this one.” You joke and he laughs loudly, his mouth widening so wide it almost seems exaggerated, but you know him and this is just how he was. He opened his eyes, expression suddenly completely deadpan, chocolate irises staring you down.

“Is there something you wanna tell me about? _Like seriously_?” His question only makes you laugh along with him when he finally cracks, unable to keep a straight face.

After a few moments of silence, you press your lips to the top of his head, a rare moment of tenderness in your relationship that had barely changed since becoming official almost a year ago.

“I’m glad I met you in this one,” you whisper into his hair.

“Me too,” he drawls out softly and you can tell by the sound that he’s already half asleep. You shut the bedside lamp and lower yourself and your head to your pillow, nestling in his warmth. 

As you drift to sleep, you hear him murmur in his sleep, “I love you, you fuckin’ loser.”

Half-asleep, you reply, “I love you too, Hansol.”

##  *** * ***

The tiny café bar is a completely different scene than you remember; where there used to be tables spread out evenly throughout the main space in front of the stage, they were now pushed to the sides of the room to accommodate the throngs of people coming in to watch tonight’s performance.

You’re 15 minutes early. Even though Hansol had told you it would be fine to come at exactly seven when the show would start since his set wasn’t until around 7:30, you knew better than to come on time and end up stuck in line.

Sat along the bar at the far back of the room, you sip on your martini as you watch people slowly trickle into the tiny venue, when a flash of familiar silver hair peaks out one of the doors near the stage. He looks around the room, his eyes landing immediately on you, able to find you immediately despite the growing crowd.

You had never seen Hansol like this before.

His hair which he rarely ever bothered styling let alone comb, was now perfectly set, parted on one side, his bangs resting naturally on the rest of his face, a sliver of his forehead peeking through. His face was fully made up, some smokey make-up lining the outer corners of his eyes, making his chocolate irises pop even more. You feel your jaw slightly unhinge, your lips parting as you drink in the sight of him; Hansol had always been beautiful to you, but somehow in the dim yellow lighting of the bar, his make-up catching the light perfectly, it made him look deliciously otherworldly and even dangerous. Suddenly you felt like prey under his piercing gaze.

The corners of his mouth shift into a soft smirk in recognition. Right away, he can tell the magnified effect he has on you from the way you stare him down as though he is an oasis in the desert, and before you can even compose yourself enough to get up to go to him, he’s already taking long purposeful strides over to where you’re seated. It knocks the breath out of your lungs.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He says cheekily, one arm leaning onto counter, while the other reaches for the back of your seat, efficiently cornering you – not that you had any real qualms about it – taking advantage of your initial shock.

Hearing his words, you immediately recognize the dork that is none other than your precious Hansol underneath his contrasting outer appearance. You giggle at the little charade he’s pulling and return his playful smile, quickly regaining your composure.

“I don’t know,” you pretend to ponder his offer, “I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He’s one of tonight’s performers and I don’t think he’d appreciate it.”

“Oh,” his eyes widen in mock surprise, his mouth exaggeratedly forming the syllable, “you have a boyfriend? Well, he’s a really lucky guy then.”

He eyes you up and down, pretending to hit on you, but genuinely appreciating the way the off-shoulder sweetheart neckline of your black dress compliments you, never having seen you in that particular dress before. It wasn’t every day that he got to see you all dolled up, especially when it was just for him and his performance, and even more when you looked so good he could ravish you right then and there.

“Well, I’m a really lucky girl to have him.” You smirk, shrugging a bare shoulder at him and you see the way his eyes follow the exposed skin intently, his mouth practically watering at the sight.

“Nah baby,” he drops the act, placing gentle hands on the skin of your neck and moving towards you for a kiss.

“I’m the one who’s lucky.” He murmurs the words against your lips in between kisses and it makes you smile against his.

Unwillingly, you pull away, not wanting to ruin his make-up with your kisses. You shift backward on your seat to look at him, noticing a tiny smudge in the lipstick of his lower lip. You tell him not to move as you carefully take his face between your hands and press your thumb to the smudge.

What should be a rather simple task for such a small amount of excess lipstick, proves to be difficult as Hansol refuses to stand still, insistently trying to catch your thumb either in between his teeth or in soft butterfly kisses. It’s only when there’s a cough that comes from your side and Hansol looks slightly up, distracted by the arrival, that you finally manage to erase any trace of the color.

“Still very much in love and mushy, I see.” You immediately recognize the voice to be Mingyu and you look up at him to see all 12 boys dressed nicer than usual, happily greeting both you and Hansol.

When it’s time for Hansol to go back and prepare for his set, he sweetly kisses your temple. He pats the shoulders of both Mingyu and Minghao who are seated closest to you on the bar, motioning to you, as he says, “take care of my girl.” Then gives you an enthusiastic wink before heading off in the same direction his producer disappears.

When it’s Hansol’s turn, the night is still fairly young. So, while the crowd is pumped and excited for the rest of the show, they are a mass of chattering bodies, only half paying attention. Once he starts though, his perfect English starting his rap and the unique treble of his voice piercing through the room, he quickly has everyone’s attention.

It was the first time you’d ever seen him perform, let alone heard him rap in a proper performance setting. It would have been a gross understatement to say that he was _utterly enthralling_ ; gone was the dorky, adorable boy you knew, replaced on stage by confidence and swagger that seemed magnified by the exhilaration on stage, his presence washing over the room like a tidal wave. He was everything you knew and loved about Hansol, but somehow different, greater, and larger than life. On stage, he was someone that shone too brightly and authentically for this world. You had no words as you watched him, pride bubbling up in your chest and spilling out of your eyes in the form of tears. Just like you, everyone in the crowded bar is entranced by the words that flowed effortlessly from him, never missing a beat, and seemingly never running out of breath or losing energy.

“Aw, don’t cry, y/n.” Minghao soothes, patting your head kindly. If you hadn’t already been so close with everyone, you might’ve been embarrassed to be caught getting emotional, but these boys have seen you and Hansol through everything. He flashes you a sweet and understanding smile and you chuckle under your breath as you expertly dab the moisture out of your eyes.

In typical Hansol-fashion, there are multiple curse words littered throughout his rap, but it only serves to stimulate the crowd further. Even more so when he starts jumping, banging his head to the upbeat riff of the music. In the crowd, you can see people jumping and dancing along with him, and you’re so proud that you almost want to join them, his energy and confidence undeniably contagious.

Down to the last verse of his song, he keeps his energy high. He’s a sweaty mess, his make-up trickling down his face, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His smirk is still just as captivating as ever, drawing the audience in, and his bravado unparalleled and unreachable. At this point, you’re full of emotion, but well past crying. Instead, you’re jiving effortlessly to the music, savoring the way the sounds of the music and his voice were making you feel.

Then you see it; his eyes locked onto you as if calling you out, mesmerizing you completely with just one look. Knowing perfectly well that he’s gotten your attention, he gives you a subtle wink, keeping his gaze focused on you as he gets out the last chorus. Like a secret message that travels past the unknowing crowd and straight to your chest, his look is one you recognize right away: _I love you._

Suddenly, the color in the room feels more vibrant despite the dim lighting; the beat is thrumming louder in your ears, and his voice singing above the music seems to overtake your senses until there’s nothing and no one else but him. Watching him do what he was born to, you had never been prouder and more enamored with him than at that moment. Holding his gaze, you stand from your seat, pressing a kiss to your palm, tossing it enthusiastically at him.

The gesture surprises him, his eyes widening, and before he can even register his actions, his arm flashes out and reaches up to quickly catch your kiss as if it was a palpable object flying towards him. For a moment, his mask slips, and the charismatic and mysterious stage persona, _Vernon_ , falls away. His cool expression melts and he breaks out into a beaming smile, eyes flooding with affection and softening into crescent moons, revealing the beloved bright puppy-dog of a boy that belonged to only you, _Hansol._

Never in your life had you ever seen him glow the way he was now.

When he rejoins the rest of the group, the boys are the first to welcome him back, congratulating him loudly with hugs and high-fives. He moves over to you, standing next to you at the bar and resuming his spot from earlier, leaning over you. This time though, he’s sweaty and out of breath. His silk dress-shirt clings to his skin with sweat dripping down his face, but you don’t care. You wrap your arms around him eagerly, pulling him close.

“Baby, I’m sweaty, you’ll ruin your dress.” He chuckles, whining in protest, but his body betrays him, melting into your touch and wrapping his arms at your waist.

“I don’t care.” You kiss his damp, make-up stained cheek. “I am so fucking proud of you.”

“Bet your boyfriend couldn’t do what I just did.” He says teasingly, wriggling his eyebrows and recalling the joke from earlier.

You tilt your head back in laughter, moving your hands to his face. You push away the silver strands of hair sticking to his damp skin, no longer worried about ruining his make-up. You move closer, your breath at the shell of his ear giving him goosebumps. You whisper, “Sorry to break it to you, stupid, but you _are_ my boyfriend.”

Those words alone are enough to have him erupting in booming laughter and you watch his face light up as he clutches his stomach, trying to calm himself down. As hot _Vernon_ was, and as amazing as his presence was, you much preferred this scene in front of you; the beautiful, expressive, genuine, and all too familiar laughter of Hansol.

“Okay, that’s enough, love-birds!” Jeonghan hollers, effectively popping the bubble of your tender moment. The older male wraps his arms around both of your shoulders, sitting Hansol down in between you and him, and handing you each a shot.

"A toast,” Jeonghan calls out, raising a shot glass and everyone joining in the toast, raising their own, "to Vernon’s first-ever album, and him finally losing his virginity!”

All the other boys shout and cheer boisterously, clinking their glasses together, sloshing the transparent liquid around, before downing their drinks.

“Congratulations on not being a virgin anymore, babe!” You follow suit after clinking your shot glass with theirs and Hansol’s. Once the burning liquid goes down completely, you cheer loudly along with the others, kissing your boyfriend’s now rosy cheeks.

“Fuck you, y/n.” He laughs despite his humiliation.

“You did, baby, that’s why we’re celebrating!” You rebuke, and if he hadn’t already been utterly mortified, he was now. The redness in his cheeks spread to the tips of his ears and his shot glass, still full of liquor, remained raised mid-way, seemingly forgotten in all the chaos that was his friends and girlfriend ganging-up on him.

##  *** * ***

“You said you would call two hours ago?” The words are phrased like a question, but the drop in your voice makes it clear to Hansol – if your downcast eyes and saddened expression hadn’t been indication enough – that this time you’re not interested in the answer.

He watches you on the screen of his phone as you bite down on your lower lip and gnaw on the sensitive skin there, inhaling deeply as you wait for what he has to say for himself. He can tell easily that you’re trying desperately to stop the angry tears that are threatening to spill and at that moment, he wishes more than anything that he was beside to you press his thumb to your lips to remind you to stop biting. It makes his heart drop into his stomach, making the contents of lunch do somersaults, threatening to spill out in the form of vomit.

You knew there was no point in fighting or arguing, especially when he was miles away and busy with his tour and all his shows. But you couldn’t help being disappointed. You were constantly waiting for him, rearranging your sleep and work schedules for even just a glimpse of him, while it seemed like he was perfectly fine away from you. While the emptiness in your shared apartment only magnified and reminded you of the distance between you, it seemed the new people and places he was meeting and experiencing filled it for him.

“I’m so sorry, y/n.” He tells you almost immediately, his voice is soft and audibly exhausted. After almost two years together, and nearly four being your best friend, Hansol knew better than anyone else what you needed the most right now. More than his excuses or justifications, even _if_ he had a good reason, all you wanted was to know that he was sorry.

You can tell by the way he fidgets on the screen, his eyes quickly darting to the ground then back up at you, that it’s taking everything in him to keep from looking away in shame. You’re thankful for the effort as he tries his best to meet your eyes, his apology pouring out slowly and sincerely from his lips.

It had been more than a week since the two of you had last spoken or even seen each other over facetime. Yes, there were messages here and there. Replies and updates sent with distracted, disconnect and seemingly rushed fingers; good mornings and good nights spread out between all the wrong hours of each other’s days thanks to the time difference; pictures of random things that though beautiful, (like buildings, sunsets, concert halls where he’d perform and pictures of Hansol smiling and enjoying in groups and crowds of people you didn’t even know) felt like empty fillers for absent conversation, and only served as reminders of just how tangible the distance was becoming between the two of you. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d manage to exchange ‘I love you’ messages, but even those felt hollow without his voice to make them more than just a cluster of letters pieced together on a screen.

It wasn’t just the time difference though. With all the work you were both doing, you with your manuscripts, and meetings; him with his tour, appearances, and the constant need to network at parties, a common time was just something that seemed to evade you both. Each time the two of you managed to agree on a time, promising to call, your plans ended up consistently ruined by something seemingly more important; extended practices, last-minute shows, last-minute meetings, falling asleep waiting.

Suddenly it felt like the more effort either of you put into trying to catch each other, the more elusive the other became. Like trying to catch a train and arriving at the platform minutes earlier, only to realize you had been waiting on the wrong side. You watch your train stop across you on the opposite platform, so unbearably close, but utterly unreachable.

Only this time, there was no next train coming. More and more it was starting to feel like you had both just been keeping each other waiting for something that wasn’t coming.

“I just miss you so much, Sol.” You finally crack. Like a dam that was only one blow away from bursting at the seams, you felt your resolve break. You could no longer pretend that this wasn’t taking as much out of you as it was, and it seemed like all the struggles of this these past months had compounded itself into one single blow wrapped up in the single syllable of his name.

Your voice cracks, a sob choking out of your throat, causing a strangled cry right as you say his name; it was a sound he’d never heard from you before. Like a thunderstorm that wracks your chest, he watches you quiver as you bury your face in your hands. As though it was painful to even think of him, or say his name, let alone look at him at this moment.

It broke him.

He ached to touch you, to wipe the tears from your face and pull you into a hug, to feel your arms around him again and reassure you that this was only a temporary struggle, but he couldn’t. Even as you were right there in front of him, there was nothing he could do to actually reach you, and it had reached the point where words barely meant anything anymore.

“I’m sorry, baby, please…” He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for – maybe for you to stop crying, or not to leave him? Whatever it is, his voice betrays the emotion that is unreadable on his face in the dim lighting of the moving vehicle driving him back to his hotel, and he feels the tears start to well up and seep out of his eyes.

Looking up from your tears, you catch a glimpse of his tears, glimmering slightly in the inconsistent beat of the streetlights as his car passed them. You had never seen Hansol cry before.

“I miss you too,” he says, no longer trying to hide the tremor in his voice, “so, _so much_. You don’t even know.”

He had been struggling too, you realize. Hansol had never been the type to share his worries. While you’d been caught up missing him, thinking that he was lucky to be the one in a different country filled with wonderful distractions, you hadn’t thought that maybe he was hurting too.

“I know it’s hard, but we’ll be okay.” You can hear him sniffle from the other end of the line. As sad as it is, the sound makes you smile, your shoulders softening and the sobs calming down.

“I’ll be home soon, and everything will be okay.” You could hear the conviction despite the shake in his voice, completely sure of every single word he was saying.

“Everything will be okay.” You repeat his words to him, hoping they also offer him some form of comfort, and in hushed whispers, the two of you repeat the words to each other, a quiet mantra of reassurance, but also a promise. That the two of you would survive this, and anything else, together.

## * * *

Within the first thirty minutes of meeting his family, you’re absolutely, a hundred percent enamored. They step out of the living room to prepare dinner, giving you and Hansol some privacy on the couch. When you’re quite sure they’re completely out of earshot, you hook your arms around the back of Hansol’s neck, pulling him into a hug with the brightest smile he’d ever seen on you. 

For the first time in the year he’s been dating you, the roles were reversed. There you were, animatedly giggling and pressing what felt like a million kisses face. In tur,n making him laugh unabashedly, despite his family in the next room. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. Not enough for his liking, but just enough that it would be acceptable in his childhood home and enough to have a better vantage point for catching your fervent kisses.

“Babe,” he laughs, trying his best to keep up with your kisses. Some meeting his lips, while others he completely misses, landing elsewhere – not that he was complaining.

“I love them.” You tell him and he can’t help but return your beam, flashing you his signature gummy smile with his eyes forming into crescent moons, consumed by his happiness to the point they looked closed. 

“I’m glad you do, baby,” he says, leaning in for another kiss, this one less frantic than the previous ones. Instead, it’s soft but purposeful, determined to relay with this one simple gesture the fluttering of the butterflies in his stomach and the quivering of his heart: _I love you._

You return the intimate action with just as much tenderness. He doesn’t say it, but you feel it clear as day, and so you caress his face with your hands, thumbs rubbing soft circles into his cheeks. You reply, your answer hidden in the space where yours and his lips meet: _I love you, too._

“They love you too, you know?” He whispers when the two of you pull apart, loosening his grip, but keeping his arm around your waist.

“You think so?”

“Hell, yeah.” He’s so quick to respond that it relaxes your shoulders that you hadn’t known were tense and exhaling a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“What the heck’s not to like?” He fluffs you up, knowing perfectly well how to boost your confidence and comfort you all in one sentence.

You look at him, examining his expression, brows furrowed in such sincere astonishment and outrage as if he couldn’t fathom how someone could not like everything about you or even find something to dislike. The exaggeration is so serious that you can’t help but laugh, completely forgetting what you were even worried about.

Resting your temple on his shoulder, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers, something you two didn’t usually do, but when you did, it was a quiet intimate gesture. After a few seconds of silence, you pipe up, finally verbalizing the initial thought that had made you so overjoyed in the first place.

“You think your parents would wanna adopt me?”

Hansol looks at you with a raised brow, lips puckered in confusion then laughing at the outrageousness of your request, “What the fuck, even?”

##  *** * ***

The two of you are on the couch in Hansol’s apartment – practically yours too at this point if the spare key he’d given you was any indication. But since the both of you were trying to keep it low-key, no one knew just how frequent you’d been sleeping over, let alone just what the two of you had been _up to_ during your rather frequent and lengthy sleepovers.

Hansol is doing his usual lazy Sunday channel surfing, his eyes intently trained on the random shows that flashed on the screen. You, on the other hand, were working on a manuscript that was due at the end of this month, furiously typing away at the laptop conveniently set on your lap while your legs stretched out comfortably across his lap; his hand casually placed on your one of your knees, lovingly rubbing circles into the skin there.

“What’s that fucking word, _goddammit_.” You curse under your breath, pressing the tip of your thumb to your teeth and biting down on it hard, a bad habit that you’d developed to cope with moments of stress.

Without even batting an eyelash or even ungluing his eyes from the screen, Hansol absentmindedly reaches out, his hand fumbling and missing yours in the first few tries. Third time’s the charm, he manages to finally find the hand you have pressed into your mouth and gently pull it away from your bite.

“Don’t bite, baby, you’ll hurt yourself.” The words slip so lazily from his mouth, that he’s practically mumbling them. If you hadn’t known how he when he got distracted watching TV, you probably wouldn’t have even realized he’d said anything coherent.

The sentiment is so tender, so natural, and automatic to him that it makes your chest tight. You look up from your work to just look at Hansol. Admittedly, you did this far too often than you would ever confess; just watching him. Not because he was beautiful – which he undeniably was – not because you couldn’t believe he was real, but you couldn’t believe he was truly here _with_ _you_.

Quietly, you push your laptop off you and onto the couch, careful not to call his attention, not wanting to get caught staring. You watch him; the way his chest peeked out from under the v-neckline of his shirt, its subtle rise and fall, the way his mouth opened and closed unconsciously, how his jaw would clench in reaction to the scenes on the television, and his slim fingers rubbing absentminded patterns onto the skin of your knees and calves.

Despite wanting to admire him for longer, you give in to the greater desire to reach out to him and stroke his hair, gently hooking a loose strand behind his ear and affectionately caressing his cheek. He hums in response and approval, leaning into your touch to face you with a serene expression on his face, the tiniest smile playing on the edges of his lips.

“Tired, baby?”

You shake your head in response, pulling yourself up, shifting so that you were sitting on his lap, straddling him. You put your hands on either side of his neck and he rests his head against the back of the couch to look up at your face which is now slightly higher than his, his smile soft and relaxed but inviting.

“Of you? Never, Sol. I could never.” You press your lips to his, your hair falling past your shoulders and creating a curtain around the two of you. He leans up to meet your lips half-way. His hand moves up to your face, brushing your hair away, to caress your cheek. Bringing you closer and deepening the kiss, while his other hand snakes up your thigh to your hip, squeezing you there.

When the two of you pull apart some few seconds later, Hansol’s eyes are no longer soft and languid. Instead, they were warm and wanting, shifting between your eyes and lips hungrily. As if contemplating if he should take you right then and there and steal the breath from your lips. Where his calm smile once was, his lips are parted, letting out shallow exhales.

You make the first move, locking your lips with his. He returns your fervor just as passionately, pulling you flush against him by the hips until there isn’t a crevice between the two of you that isn’t touching. His hands are rough and demanding, but you like his harshness as they trail down to the backs of your thighs, lifting you, and bringing you up along with him as he stands, murmuring something about heading to the bedroom as he kissed feverishly down your neck.

You can only giggle in response, arm wrapped securely around his shoulders and a hand threaded through his silver hair.

## * * *

“Sometimes, you’re here, but it feels like you’re not.” You thought he would be surprised by your words, but as he sits on the couch across from you, he only nods, listening without a single hint of shock on his features.

“I’m sorry. It’s just been so busy with the new album and the rehearsals, planning, and everything…” He trails off, knowing full well that you aren’t interested in his excuses or his reasons, but your expression is soft as you nod, listening to him.

Your eyes meet and your irises are soft and understanding, “I know,” you sigh, “I know you’ve been busy but I–I just…” You don’t know how to say the words; if you say them now, it will be an admission of weakness, a chink in the armor of yours, and Hansol’s relationship that had always seemed so impenetrable.

Until now.

“It’s just that ever since you got back from your tour in America, you feel different.” The words are soft and barely above a whisper as you say them; they feel like a confession you aren’t ready to give. But you know you have to if you want to work it out, however it doesn’t make it any easier to say.

“Things were great when I got back,” his tone is so calm that it sounds almost like a suggestion instead of a defense. “I mean, those first few weeks they gave me to rest, those were really good.”

“Yeah, I guess they were.” You seem only half convinced. He was right, but deep down you also couldn’t shake the feeling that something in the foundations of your dynamic had shifted.

“Sometimes, I feel like I have to choose between you and my music, and I don’t want to have to choose.”

You swallow the lump that forms in your throat at his words. You understood exactly what he meant; it _had_ been good for those first two weeks. It was only recently when he’d been spending more late hours, entire days and nights at the studio preparing for his upcoming album, that you’d become more restless.

Before you can reply to apologize, he speaks first, “but it’s okay. I know me being gone was hard on you.”

“It was hard on both of us, Sol. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking so much that you feel like you have to choose between the things you love most.” At your reply, he takes your hands that are folded across your lap and he rubs soft patterns into your knuckles. Smiling, he brings them to his lips and presses soft kisses there, one on each before intertwining your fingers with his.

“I’m really glad you told me though, I mean, I know it’s hard, I know I’m – um, not the easiest when it comes to talking about things like this, but thanks,” he clears his throat, masking the emotion in a cough, “for telling me.”

Finally, he looks up from your hands and meets your teary-eyed gaze. “I know I’m not an expert at being a boyfriend, but I am still your best friend, so even if it’s hard, I’m happy you told me.”

Before he can say more, you quickly interject, “I love you.” The words spill out of you in a rushed exhale and it doesn’t help that you were in tears already.

“I love you, Hansol.” You repeat, firmer and clearer this time. You watch him tilt his head sideways, processing your words before exhaling in a light chuckle of relief. This time it’s your turn to pull his hands close and press a kiss to the soft skin there. You let your lips linger for a moment, some of your tears falling onto his hands.

He shifts his hands, changing the position to cup your face in a loving caress, tilting your jaw so you can meet his eyes, “I love you, too. For as long as I can.”

“Everything will be okay.” You say it first, the words that you know will reassure you both that you’d get through this. Hansol’s eyes light up in recognition and he nods, pulling you by the nape into a warm hug.

## * * *

“Sol, are you here? I’m home, baby.” You call out into the apartment as you enter, your feet pushing the front door open, keys jangling from one hand, the other full of groceries.

Like clockwork, he comes out of your bedroom to welcome you home, a bright smile on his face. Upon seeing your somewhat haphazard, but still lovely state, he hurries to take the bags from your hands and relieve you of the weight.

“You went to the grocery?” He asks, setting the bags onto the counter and giving you a confused look, “I thought you and Sofia had a date today?”

“Yeah, we did.” You reply, helping him unpack. “We went for lunch after the movie, then groceries.”

Ever since you’d met his family six months ago, you and his sister were inseparable; meeting every month for dates that would last entire days, some even resulting in sleepovers at the Choi house (without Hansol, much to his dismay). It was an understatement that the two of you adored each other. While you often helped her with her homework and general teenage concerns, she often talked with you about books or songs you liked, giving you the female companionship you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love all the boys to bits; you had lots of common interests with them and could even spend countless days talking to each one about various meaningful topics. They were always so sweet and entertaining, and it had always been apparent that they had adored you just as much, but there was just something different about talking to another female – even if it was oftentimes her brother at the center of your discussions – something that felt warm, familiar and comfortable.

“You two are weird.” Hansol muses. “Sometimes, I feel like you’re dating my sister and not me.”

“Honestly, I’d date your sister. She’s great.” You tease, playing along. He laughs at the sentiment as he, transfers oranges from the bag to a fruit bowl, setting it onto the table.

“But,” hopping over, you startle him by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close, “you’re the only one I want to do this with.”

Stepping onto your tiptoes, you press a kiss to his lips, and he bends down, arms wrapping around your waist as he leans down to return the gesture.

When you pull apart, arms still encircling each other, he smiles your favorite kind of smile and presses a kiss to your forehead, “I’m glad you didn’t decide to sleepover at our house today, you spend way too much time with Sofia.”

You laugh, tipping your head back and falling backward with your full weight, knowing full well that Hansol’s sturdy arms will catch you with ease, pulling you to his chest.

“Hansol Choi!” You feign shock, “Is that _jealousy_ I hear in your voice? Are you _actually jealous_?”

“No way, loser.” He scoffs, setting you upright and unwrapping himself from you and walking towards his phone on the coffee table. From the side, you can see that a slight rosiness has spread across his cheeks and you giggle to yourself in pride that you’ve finally won a round in this back and forth you two had going.

“I can’t even believe she _wants_ to babysit you, free of charge too.” He calls over his shoulder as he disappears into your shared room, as you laugh in response.

That night, Hansol falls asleep browsing his phone and as you’re prying it out of his sleepy hands, you feel the device vibrate, lighting up beneath your touch. On the screen, you see it’s a notification for a message from Sofia that reads: “You’re just jealous cause she likes me so much better.”

Opening the phone with your thumbprint (which Hansol insisted you input onto his phone for “emergency purposes” which were really just moments when he was too lazy to text), it opens to their conversation where you can see Hansol’s previous message: "Stop stealing my girlfriend.”

Locking his phone and setting it down onto the bedside table, you settle beside him and giggle under your breath as you watch him sleep. You press a butterfly kiss to his forehead, a silent good night gesture, and the tiniest hint of a smile flutters across his lips.

## * * *

The airport is a jam-packed hall of people rushing left and right, some trying to get to their luggage, while others are trying to chase down their flights; some flying home to their families, some to work, and some you imagine, are frantically trying to reach a love they are hoping they aren’t too late for.

Maybe it’s all the romance movies you’d watched with Hansol this week leading up to his departure, or maybe it was the melancholy you just couldn’t shake from your chest, your stomach doing flips as you anticipated having to say goodbye to him in a few minutes.

Beside you, he’s calmly and very casually looking over his flight details, checking the boards for his flight number and check-in gate. Trying to distract yourself, you stare down at the tile of the terminal beneath your feet. Unlike you, they are made to withstand goodbyes. These halls have probably heard the word goodbye more than hospitals have, and you wonder how many ever actually return.

Deep down, you know you’re being too emotional about all of this. It was just two months, three tops. He wasn’t going away forever, and it was for his work, his dream. Finally, the thing he had been chasing so earnestly was slowly coming to fruition and you wouldn’t let yourself get in his way.

The good intention, however, does nothing to calm the pit that only deepens in your stomach as his departure draws nearer and nearer; Hansol knew how you felt about goodbyes, he knew your relationship with your parents (as non-existent as it was) and how their abandonment had scarred you. Still, you put on a brave face, you place your hand on his shoulder, grabbing his attention and pointing to the numbers in red on the departures board that you recognize to be his flight number.

“Your gate’s F-18,” you tell him, peering over his shoulder to double-check and cross-reference the numbers with his documents, “and it opens in about 30 minutes.”

“Thanks, babe,” he smiles, taking your hand in his, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The sentiment is sweet, but you know he’s just saying it to ease the anxiety he knows is building in you, despite being invisible on the surface. Pulling you to an emptier section of chairs in the massive lobby of the airport, he sits the both of you down and intertwines your fingers with his, placing it in his lap. With his other hand, he types a quick message to his producer that he’s already arrived and would just see her inside at the boarding area.

“Breathe, baby.” He whispers in your ear, pulling you out of your racing thoughts. He presses two fingers to your lower lip that you’ve unconsciously taken in between your teeth in your nervousness.

“And please stop biting, you’ll hurt yourself.” He smiles, placing his free hand on the side of your face and pulling your head close to him to press a kiss to the side of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair as he does.

“Sorry,” you bow your head in shame, leaning into the feel of his lips in your hair, and pressing your shoulder into his, reveling in any comfort you can find in his warmth. 

Angling his head to the side to give you a better view of his face, he gives you a kind and understanding smile as he shakes his head. “You don’t have to be sorry. I know it’s hard.”

You meet his eyes and in them, there’s nothing less than adoration and empathy. The sight shatters your guard, and you feel the hot moisture start to build in your eyes, the image of Hansol slowly becoming blurry.

Again, he hugs you to him, pulling you into the crook of his neck. Finally giving in, you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in the comfortable space, silently pouring your heart out there.

“There’s my little cry baby, y/n,” he chuckles, alternating between rubbing your back and smoothing your hair, “for a minute there, I thought you transformed into some, alien mature version of yourself, _yuck_.”

“You’re _such_ a dick, Hansol Vernon Choi.” you sob into his shoulder, voice breaking as you reprimand and slap his shoulder. It only makes him laugh harder. “I can’t believe you’re laughing at me right now.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, chuckling as he tilts your chin up to face him, “you were just trying so hard to act tough, I couldn’t leave you like that. Besides, you’re so cute when you cry.”

He presses his lips to yours in apology; if he tastes the tears, he doesn’t say, not that he minded anyway. He would take all of you anytime, rain or shine, in laughter, and even in cute sobs in the middle of busy airports.

“It’ll be okay, baby. Just a few months.” He rubs your shoulder as your tears subside into soft sniffles, “I’ll call you every day and we’ll talk all the time, I promise. It’ll be so often that you’re gonna get sick of me anyway.”

You shake your head, slapping his shoulder again as you pull him closer to you. “I could never _._ Never _ever_ , Hansol, don’t be a fucking dumbass.”

“I know, y/n, I’m just teasing you. I’m gonna miss that while I’m away.”

“What? Teasing me?” You pout.

“No, you physically abusing me when I tease you.”

You shift, facing him completely, your face tear-stained, but more visibly annoyed than anything else. His eyes are watching you intently, anticipating your reaction while he bites his lips, obviously trying to fight a smile from breaking out.

Letting out an exasperated huff of air, you say the only thing you can think to as a final resort. "I’m going to tell mom and Sofia on you.”

That’s all it takes for him to burst into boisterous laughter that makes other waiting passengers look over at the two of you, some of his saliva splattering onto you as he grips your shoulders, shaking you playfully as he buries his face into your shoulder as he tries to calm himself.

Not immune to his charms, you feel yourself swayed by the sound of his laughter, finding yourself laughing along with him. You’re sure that more people are staring at the two of you at this point, but you don’t care. Right now, you were completely swept up in his laughter and you would savor the happiness while it lasted. You laugh until your sides hurt and you both can no longer breathe properly.

Once your giggles have subsided into bright smiles, he wipes the tears that have pooled in his eyes from laughing. Then he pulls the sleeve of his sweatshirt and reaches up to clean your tears and his spit from your face, which at this point, can no longer be differentiated.

Looking over at his watch, you note that there are only ten minutes left before he has to check-in. You look at him, straightening the orange beanie on his head, “Don’t worry about me, okay Sol? I’ll be fine, just come home to me.”

Automatically he replies, “of course. Always.”

Right on cue, the airport announces the opening of his gate and you unwrap yourself from him, the two of you getting up to head to his counter where the two of you would inevitably have to part. The two of you walk there in silence, fingers intertwined.

Once you reach the gate, you face him with a smile, pressing a kiss to his lips and telling him to take care. When you try to untangle your hand from his, surprisingly he’s the one who doesn’t want to let go. He pulls you back into his arms, crushing you in a hug that seems to last for an eternity, but not nearly long enough. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply as if trying to catch and memorize your scent.

“I’ll see you soon, okay y/n?” He whispers into your skin, but you can tell that the words are more for him than they are for you.

“I’ll see you soon, baby.” You rub his back, giving him a squeeze, before prying him off you, withdrawing from the hug to set some distance between you. He kisses you once, twice then thrice more, before finally grabbing his luggage and heading to the entrance. When he reaches it though, he turns around, waving as he calls out, “I miss you already!” Knowing exactly what he was trying to say, the actual words that if he said might cause you to cry, you fight the tears.

“I miss you already!” You yell back; _I love you too._

“Oh!” He turns around, facing you again, “And don’t tell my mom or Sofia on me, please? If you do, I won’t hear the end of it. We both know they love you more than me.”

You laugh, motioning for him to go through the security check already, “I’ll think about it!”

## * * *

When the boys find out, it’s a wild and complete understatement to describe it as a _literal fucking shitshow_. That morning, Hansol is at the dining table having breakfast – technically brunch since he’d woken up later than he intended thanks to last night’s _antics_ – scrolling through his phone, and you’re hovering over him, clad in nothing but his white-button up, pouring freshly brewed coffee into his cup. As you do, he notices how the shirt hikes up your form in the slightest, but most delicious way, revealing just a sliver of the skin of your backside.

Immediately, he finds himself distracted by something else. Setting his phone down, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you to him in one swift movement, setting the coffee pot out of your hands.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He says bending you over to him, so he can kiss you, his hand finding the now more exposed skin of your rear, as you press your lips to his.

“ _Oh, my fucking god.”_ You recognize Jun’s voice, followed by rushed footfalls with worried and shocked shouts. Immediately recognizing the voices, Hansol is on his feet in a flash, covering you up as you try to maintain whatever modesty you still have. 

In the doorway, there stood your 12 closest friends – the very people you had been hiding this relationship from – cramming themselves through the doorway craning their necks to see.

“I fucking knew it!” Mingyu breaks the tension, enunciating every word while pushing past the others, striding into the apartment proudly. “Wonwoo, Coups, Seungkwan, and Minghao, pay up.“

His composure is enough to snap everyone out of their shock and the entire apartment ensues into chaos. Jun coming in to set his things and the snacks they’d bought onto the dining table beside you, smiling brightly and congratulating you and Hansol.

"I knew you two would eventually date. This is so great, congratulations you guys, we should go on a double date sometime.” Somehow, he had managed to be utterly sweet and sincere, while completely oblivious or just indifferent to the fact that you were almost completely naked.

As Jun moved to find a spot in the room, behind him, the boys were arguing loudly, Seungcheol stomping his foot while debating fiercely with Mingyu, “Nu-uh, if they don’t _say_ they’re dating, it doesn’t count!”

Beside him, Seungkwan and Minghao are fervently agreeing and contesting Mingyu who was laughing loudly, shaking his head, and having none of it.

Hoshi on the other hand – who you noticed had just changed his hair color to a deep green– was coming in hot. His excitement had him practically bouncing to you and Hansol, shouting, “Our Vernonnie is a man now! You two are so cute! Don’t forget to use protection, okay?”

From behind him, DK comes bounding in, placing his hands on his hyung’s back affectionately, before chiming in, “Congratulations, Hansolie! You’re really lucky to have y/n.”

You almost melt at his sweet words, but that sentiment quickly evaporates when he adds, “And don’t worry,” he looks to you, “we didn’t see anything.”

“Yup, nothing at all we promise!” Hoshi agrees, both winking at you as though it’s an inside joke and you are so fucking mortified you could choke on air and die right then. 

"We should have brought alcohol and more food since we’re celebrating Vernon losing his virginity!” Jeonghan complains from across the room, loud enough that despite the noise bustling in the apartment, everyone hears him perfectly.

From the couch, Dino raises his phone and calls out, “I can order more food.”

On the side, the boys are still arguing, angrily quarreling as they walked towards you both. “Y/n, Hansol, please tell these dummies that you two are actually soulmates and that you both have the sight and are happily dating, please?” Mingyu demands and you feel your mouth open reflexively to answer him, but so overwhelmed by the situation that nothing comes out.

“See? She isn’t saying anything! It’s not true!” Seungkwan argues, pointing at whose face is frozen at flabbergasted, mouth open and brows furrowed.

“Yeah, silence means no!” Seungcheol argues, lightly punching Mingyu in the arm, “Right Hansol? Don’t forget I’m you’re hyung.” Confused, you wonder how the conversation has evolved from mere chaos to down-right intimidation and threat-filled.

“Don’t listen to him bro,” Mingyu coaxes Hansol, “love shouldn’t be hidden away!”

“Friends can sleep with each other and not have to be soulmates, Mingyu!” Wonwoo counters, “Sex and love aren’t mutually exclusive, Gyu.”

All this happens within the first minutes they arrive, and you find yourself reaching for Hansol’s hand for comfort. He takes it easily, perfectly in sync with you, squeezes it gently to offer his strength, a silent promise that he’ll take care of it.

Somehow, you and Hansol manage to slip past everyone; him covering you from every angle he possibly can as you scamper into his room, immediately closing the door and locking it, so rushed that it slams loud enough that a sudden silence washes over the entire apartment.

The two of you take a breath. You look at him and his eyes meet yours almost instantly and the flustered look on both your faces is all it takes for you to erupt into embarrassed laughter, burying your face into his shoulder. At the sound, he finds himself unable to keep from joining you, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting hug, his hands moving to the back of your head, smoothing out your hair in downward motions.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” Hansol chuckles, “I forgot they had a spare key, too.” You shake your head at him, still laughing at the craziness of the moment. He didn’t have to apologize, you had both forgotten, all caught up in your bliss.

“Please don’t break up with me.” He jokes, kissing your temple and you laugh even more.

“I love you, Hansol.” You kiss the skin of his neck as you hug him tightly.

## * * *

It’s been almost two months since Hansol returned from his tour in America. After some bumps here and there, the two of you had finally fallen into a comfortable rhythm to navigate daily life. He was still spending most of his time at the studio, but you’d both worked out a schedule wherein you’d have a day every other week that would be yours and yours alone. There were also no more overnight songwriting sessions unless they were absolutely necessary.

You, on the other hand, had learned not to ask for too much of Hansol’s time. Things were different now with his growing popularity, naturally, you couldn’t expect things to stay the same. So, you busy yourself with work, hanging out with the boys, dates with Sofia, and even some classes you’ve decided to take for yourself.

Admittedly, the transition had been somewhat of a rough patch in your relationship, but after a long period, you were starting to feel like the two of you were finally in sync again. Coming out stronger and more understanding to each other. The constant reassurances you’d given each other had paid off, because now things finally were okay.

“Babe, you headin’ out already?” Hansol’s voice from the bedroom, pulls you out of your reverie and you’re brought back to your reflection staring back at you in the mirror, out in the hallway.

Giving yourself a once over, you realize it had been snowing lately and it would be good to wear a scarf, knowing how easily you got cold. “Yeah, almost. Could you hand me my lavender scarf?” _The one you got me when you first confessed like a loser_ , you want to say, but don’t. If you started the teasing match with him now, you’d never make it to class.

Popping out of your bedroom, he walks over to you. “Here you go,” he says wrapping the scarf around your neck then pulling you in for a hug. He kisses your forehead, telling you to be careful and have fun, before turning around and heading back where he came, dragging his feet tiredly as he goes.

You turn around to check your reflection again, wanting to straighten out the scarf knowing it’s probably strewn haphazardly on you, judging from how lazy a mood Hansol seemed to be in. You freeze, seeing your reflection, finally seeing the scarf clearly and realizing.

_It’s blue._

The 5 minutes it takes for you to snap out of your shock feel like forever, but you pull yourself out of it, tearing your eyes away from the vibrantly _not_ _lavender_ scarf _._ Forcing your mouth to move, you call out, “Bye, Sol, I’m headed out now. I love you.”

It takes what seems like an eternity for him to reply, but once it comes, it seems to echo through the dimly lit apartment, taunting you even as you turn the knob and walk out the door.

“I love you too.”

> _3\. Love is a fickle thing: if you find it, treasure it, because color can leave twice as quickly as it comes._

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, lovely human! Here is part 2 of this series. This one was quite lengthy compared to the first one. Sorry for any typos, this is mostly unedited again, but hopefully you still liked it. 
> 
> This is probably my favorite chapter, even thought it's quite bland(?). Mostly because I love writing about really domestic moments like these, or even moments wherein fights ensue and they seem small after the fact, but without really realizing it, a snowball effect slowly happening in the undercurrent of the relationship. Sorry about the cliffhanger, but honestly, who doesn't love a little suspense? Hahaha! I'm also really curious and interested about the inner workings of relationships, what goes on behind the scenes and things that people only ever share with each other.
> 
> As always, feedback and comments are always welcome. Thank you again for reading and for giving this fic your time.
> 
> Always thankful,  
> A


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